


dancing in our tears

by ZeGabz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Includes a two year time jump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeGabz/pseuds/ZeGabz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Bellamy kisses Clarke, and one time he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dancing in our tears

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works ever since 2x05 aired, and updated and tweaked as each new episode aired. Enjoy. :)

 

  
_And God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young_   
_It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run_   
_Searching for meaning_   
_But are we all lost stars trying to light up the dark?_

  
_Who are we?_   
_Just a speck of dust within the galaxy?_   
_Woe is me_   
_If we're not careful turns into reality_

  
_But don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow_   
_Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer_   
_Turn the page, maybe we'll find a brand new ending_   
_Where we're dancing in our tears_

 

 

He, bless him, announces his presence with a gentle murmur of her name as he sits down beside her on a moss-covered log. She doesn’t turn to look at him, but her mouth quirks into a hint of a smile.

The first since she heard the sound of gunfire and saw the shattered soul of Finn Collins.

Bellamy sits beside her in silence as they both stare blankly into the endless abyss of the forest. He’s sitting close; his arm is pressed soundly against hers, but she doesn’t mind. His body is her anchor, a physical reminder that she cannot get lost in her thoughts, in her anguish and guilt.

“Sit straight.” Clarke blinks, confused, and finally turns to face him. He stares at her calmly, his eyes the only indication of the turmoil raging inside him as well. 

“What?” she croaks. He moves to crouch in front of her, hands coming to rest on her knees, squeezing gently.

“Princesses don’t slouch,” he says softly, his voice rock-hard and eyes steely. “Sit straight.”

“Bellamy-“ I can’t do this with you right now. Screw yourself. Leave me alone. Please don’t be angry at me. Please don’t make me bear this alone.

“I know you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, your Highness,” Bellamy says fiercely, looking straight into her eyes fearlessly, “-but the lives of those Grounders isn’t your burden to bear.” His hands move from her knees, sliding soothingly up her legs until they come to rest on her waist. “Sit. Straight.”

She latches onto his words like a lifeline, because the alternative is sinking, drowning, and he is her life house. Holding his gaze, she rises slowly, deliberately, until she’s sitting tall. Bellamy smiles.

“Brave princess,” he says softly, warmly, so differently than the last time. His hands move from her waist. One moves the her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The other takes her hand, and brings it to his lips. He kisses it softly, reverently. “Ready to take back your kingdom?”

Clarke shuts her eyes, and takes a deep, steadying breath. As she rises, Bellamy follows suit. “No,” she admits, her hand still enclosed in his, “But we’re going to do it anyways.”

* * *

 

When he leaves to infiltrate Mount Weather she doesn’t look at him. Her eyes shut tight, because the alternative is letting tears escape, and tears are a sign of weakness. 

He doesn’t take offense, of course he doesn’t. 

His voice is a soft whisper at her ear, however, telling her he’ll see her soon, and his lips are soft as they press against it in a kiss of farewell.

She doesn’t respond, because she cannot let herself watch him leave.

He is her Gustus, and she will not care if he dies for her. She cannot.

She is iron, forged in fire, and if Bellamy has to be the ashes to her flame, so be it.

( _Please come back, please don’t die, please don’t leave me alone in this world._ )

* * *

 

She does take back her kingdom, thank you very much, and with her dark knight at her side. But battles are ugly, and a noble purpose doesn’t shield from tragedy.

She won’t think of Finn. 

She won’t.

She can’t.

Clarke looks around at what remains of Mount Weather. Somewhere, deep within the mountain, a broken race is faced with rebuilding a society on their own blood, not the blood of innocents. 

Blood like Finn’s blood, which she will never be able to wash from her hands.

She hears moaning, smells burnt flesh and blood, in the wake of it, and has to push back to panic, and focus on being the healer. She meets the fiery eyes of Lexa, who just gives her a single nod. 

Lexa, who killed her knight without a second thought.

Lexa, who hides a thousand unshed tears behind her war paint.

_I am not Lexa. I am Clarke of the Sky People, and I am not just iron forged in fire. I am the sun._

Jasper is crouched over the body of the girl with the dark hair, shaking with sobs. Monty’s beside him, a hand on his shoulder. She meets his gaze, and his eyes are so somber, so understanding, so jaded, so far from what they should be, that she has to look away.

She thinks of Finn, lost, broken, and scared, and of what this planet had done to him. She thinks of the carefree wonder he once exuded, and suddenly hates Earth for sucking the joy out of his very being, and the life out of the hearts of her people.

She kneels down beside the girl, but knows there is nothing she can do.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Jasper chokes out through sobs, “We killed her, we killed her-“

“I am so sorry-“

“Save it, please,” he mutters, “Go to the people you actually care about.”

She can’t reply, can’t think of anything that could possibly atone for the death of the girl whose eyes had sparkled with ice and life, so she leaves. She stumbles through her people, needing something good, something life affirming.

His timing is perfection.

It’s just his hand on her shoulder in the haze of smoke and death, and her breathing comes easier. “In the words of my second-favorite lady on Earth,” he says gently, “You did good.”

How can he even look at her when she sent him to die without a thought?

“People died.”

“People lived.” He pulls her closer, and her eyes close as his lips press against her forehead in a comforting kiss. She lets herself sink into his chest, and his arms wrap around her, shielding her from the sounds and smells of war. “Is this becoming a habit of yours?”

“Mmmph.” He doesn’t smell like gunpowder. She thought he would. But he doesn’t. He smells like the forest, like untainted, wild nature.

He is not her Gustus.

He is so much more.

She pulls back, because she has work to do, and she’s seen more than enough pain for the day. He stays by her side, hand coming to rest on the small of her back.

That night, he says nothing when she sneaks into his tent and just lays beside him. She says nothing the next morning when she wakes up once again wrapped in his arms.

* * *

 

Clarke’s twentieth birthday is nothing special, or at least wouldn’t be by Ark standards. But her time on Earth has taught her every day, every breath on this planet is a miracle, so she allows herself to get nice and properly wasted in celebration. 

She regrets it very much the next morning when her very amused mother wakes her up and asks for help down in Medical.

Clarke and her mother are working on organizing med supplies when Bellamy pops his head in. “Clarke!”

She turns from her job with an arched eyebrow. Abby glances from him to her, and she finds herself blushing under her mother’s knowing gaze.

“Trip over your ego again, Bellamy?” Clarke asks, turning back to her supplies. He saunters in, wearing his signature smirk, no doubt. “Because I’m afraid I can’t treat that.”

“Funny princess,” Bellamy chuckles, leaning against her workbench with an easy grin. “I forget you have a sense of humor.”

“Don’t get the chance to use it much,” she retorts, poking him in the side. “Now what do you want?”

“Who says I wanted something?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I missed you.” Clarke’s busy hands still, and she looks up at Bellamy in surprise. He shrugs, as if what he said isn’t a big deal. Abby excuses herself quietly, shooting Clarke a curious glance before bowing out of the tent. “I probably should’ve told her Kane’s hunting party is due back soon. It’s the only reason Byrne let me head down here.”

“You’re a model citizen.” Clarke sighs. “Is it bad if I say I miss the days when it was just us?” Bellamy snorts. 

“I’m pretty sure everyone here is thinking that.” He regards her for a long moment, and Clarke tries (and fails) to not blush as his eyes probe her face. “I don’t think I wished you a happy birthday yesterday.” Clarke blinks, her brain shutting down (damn her hormones) under the heat of his gaze.

“It’s no big deal,” she whispers.

“Tell that to Wells.” Her breath catches, and she has to move away. “Or Atom. Or anyone we lost.” He advances, taking her hand. “Every birthday we live to celebrate is a big deal.”

“Since when are you such a sap?” she teases softly.

“Since I let a Princess get under my skin,” he replies shamelessly. He leans in, gently brushing his lips against her cheek. “Happy birthday, Clarke.”

* * *

 

Some days are harder than others. 

Finn’s death feels like a lifetime ago sometimes, and a breath away at others. 

She and Raven are good. Their friendship will never be what it could have been, but now it’s something else. Something forged in fire, like she once thought herself. Something indestructible and fragile at the same time.

She decides to bring Raven to the place Finn brought her to so early on in their time on Earth. The blue, glowing flowers light up Raven’s eyes. They sparkle, more luminescent than the Milky Way, lit up in a way they haven’t been since before Finn took his dying breath.

Clarke decides then and there that if the Earth has produced one good thing in its entire existence, it’s the honest joy exuding from Raven tonight.

She stares at the stars, and imagines that the brightest one is her father. The twinkling one, the one that’s barely there and all the more beautiful because of it, that’s Finn. 

Bellamy finds them there, and the awestruck wonder on his face makes him look younger than Clarke has ever seen him. Raven glances over at Clarke, her eyes lighting up with something akin to mischief.

“Looking for something?” she asks. Bellamy glances at Raven, an eyebrow rising.

“Not you,” he replies easily. Raven smirks.

“I’ll just be going, then,” she says, walking back into the forest. She pauses by Clarke, still sitting and staring at the sky. Her hand squeezes Clarke’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers, before disappearing into the darkness.

Bellamy sits down beside her, almost touching her. She closes the distance, leaning into his side, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. He’s warm, like an incarnation of a flame.

"Thanks, Princess," he chuckles, and she realizes she spoke her observation aloud. The word has lost its sting on his lips, and she relishes in it.

She relishes in him.

"I feel . . ." Bellamy looks down at her.

"Feel what?" he whispers, and the answer comes to easily, it's like breathing. Like this moment has always been supposed to happen, and she's just now realized it.

"Happy," Clarke says, leaning in and capturing his lips with hers.

_Happy._


End file.
